Once upon a time, the inhabitants of North America all experienced the most special July afternoon. It had started a fairly normal day: with the wives drinking coffee and the husbands reading the papers; young children eat cereal and watch morning cartoons, while teenagers still sleep in warm beds, with the stale smells of the previous night's party wafting through the air. Everything was normal, in order and as expected. In the Midwest, a farmer looked at his fields with joy and anticipation. It hadn't rained in a day for over a week and he thought to himself that they were going to have a storm or at least a small cloud of liquid gold. In the Southwest, city streets were all covered in a thin layer of dirty sand. Building windows were not washed during the dry summer months. City mayors have long decided not to waste energy or time cleaning up the dirt and sand that returned overnight, settling in the same cracks and surfaces as the day before. In major West Coast cities, smog hung heavy in the air, filling residents' lungs like a cigarette fills a smoker. Entering and attacking their body without hesitation, never completely leaving it with each exhalation. The smog hung over the big skyscraper cities, languishing like the cars that drug men and women to get them to work early in the morning. The East Coast, however, could not rejoice in a happier circumstance, as the green hills of the states were covered in shades of olive and jade and the golden rays of the sun met the faces of the morning dog walkers. That July day, as it became. We know that when the West woke up, a rain cloud was already forming in the distance. He began above the ocean powdering the velvet of the sky, first in long whips......middle of paper......neaving to taste the breath and feel the smooth lips of the other . This caused another old woman, sitting on her porch knitting, to pause in her stitch and remember a time when she stood in the rain when she had no fear of it runs at him and freezes his skin. Above all, the rain of that summer day reminded people of an enchantment that they could touch or understand. The meteorologist could not explain the phenomenon of such a rapid and unexpected transcontinental rainstorm. However, most people didn't want or need an explanation. For hours after the climax and thunder had passed, when all the streets and houses were clean and the deserts cooled, the rain remained like a fine mist across the plains, fields, mountains, hills, deserts and the coasts, capturing every bit of the light gives the air magnificent colors no matter where people look.